


Amputation

by aravenwood



Series: Febuwhump '19 [12]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-27 01:53:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17757542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: “Well doc, break it to me gently. Am I gonna lose the arm?”Written for the Febuwhump '19 prompt "amputation".





	Amputation

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a really difficult prompt. Amputation just isn't something I would write, and it's not something I enjoy reading about. So thanks to some brainstorming with the awesome pan2fel, this was born - a slightly more lighthearted take on the prompt.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Well doc, break it to me gently. Am I gonna lose the arm?”

Bruce snorted and glanced up at his patient over the rim of his glasses. Tony had regained most of his colour now that he was topped up on painkillers and general anaesthetic and the bullet was gone from his arm. He still looked a little shaky but that was to be expected considering the circumstances – he’d been shot during a press appearance and demanded that Happy bring him back to the tower instead of to the hospital. “It’s safer, no one else is in danger,” he’d slurred as Bruce had rushed to his side and helped Happy walk Tony to the medical bay. He’d looked so out-of-it and afraid that Bruce had wondered if that was the only reason.

It was a relief to have him more lucid, not to mention surrounded by people who would kill for him, and had done time and time again.

“Not the arm but we might have to take the head. There’s this weird, ugly looking growth on it that – oh wait, that’s just your beard.” Clint broke off laughing, and the others smiled a little at his joke. Tony just pouted and scratched at his chin, mussing up said beard just enough that Clint burst into renewed hysterics. A quick flash of relief crossed Tony’s face – at least that was one less person who was mad at him.

Bruce wasn’t mad, not like the others. Natasha was glaring and shaking her head as she had been doing ever since Tony had stabilised, and Steve looked an awful lot like a disapproving father, his face a mixture of concern and disappointment. Both were looming close to the bed, hovering so close to Bruce that sometimes he could feel their sighs on his neck.

“I can’t believe you, Stark. Hit by a sniper and instead of going to see a real doctor at a real hospital with real qualifications, you come all the way back here with only Happy to keep you safe. What the hell were you thinking?” Natasha snapped as Bruce began to bandage Tony’s wound. Once more she was a little too close, but Bruce decided against saying anything for fear that she would turn on him too.

“Hey, Bruce is a real doctor!” Tony defended with a frown.

Bruce raised a hand. “Actually I’m -.”

“-not that kind of doctor. We know, doc, trust me we know,” Clint interrupted, having finally finished laughing at his own joke. He was still wearing a small smirk, but Bruce assumed that it was more to do with the current conversation – Clint found Bruce’s occasional “I’m not that kind of doctor” comments to be a highlight of his day and seemed to try and make him say it as often as he could. Bruce was more than happy to play along – it was nice for the jokes to be directed at him and not the Other Guy, as they had been for several months after New York.

Steve cut in. “He’s right, Tony. Hospitals exist for a reason, not just so that you can get patched up a lab with a basic first aid kit by Dr Banner who – yes he’s a genius and yes he’s been very good in patching us up after missions – isn’t even qualified. It’s reckless, Tony.” His voice wavered at the end and he rubbed at his eyes, looking more and more like an angry dad by the second. Bruce had to bite his lip to keep the smile from his lips.

“Well no one has ever called me a careful man,” Tony snapped, his patience seeming to wear thin. He seemed unsteady, slumped forwards so that his good arm was resting against his legs. His face was drawn and while he had significantly improved since his arrival, he still looked like a man who had been shot, a man who could have lost his life that day.

Bruce finished tying the bandage and removed his glasses. “I might not be qualified for this,” he began softly, “but I do know that being shot can take a lot out of you. He needs to rest and I don’t think that lecturing him is going to fix that. You can come back later, when he’s feeling better, and you can shout at him as much as you want. Hell, I might even join you.”

He probably wouldn’t – he didn’t like to shout.

Surprisingly, the others listened. One by one they shuffled out, Steve looking an awful lot like he’d just been scolded by his mother. Bruce watched them go, half-expecting someone to suddenly decide that they didn’t need to listen to him and that they would shout at Tony for as long as they wanted. But no one did, and soon it was just he and Tony left.

“You really should have gone to a hospital, Tony,” he mumbled.

Tony looked at him with tired eyes. “I know,” he said slowly, “but I trust you.”

“I’m not qualified -.”

“I trust you,” he repeated with such finality that Bruce couldn’t bring himself to argue. He only nodded and wrapped his arms around himself, feeling awkward but a little proud.

“Hey,” Tony called softly, “you never answered my question. Am I gonna lose the arm?”

Bruce smiled. “Not the arm, but I think you’re gonna lose your head tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
